My mom left for her business trip a day early. She claimed that her meeting on Tuesday had been moved up, so she had to fly out Monday, but she probably just wanted to get away from me. Whatever.
Dad seemed stressed about the whole thing. He knocked on my door before he left to drive Mom to the airport. I could see her behind him, in the hall with her rolling suitcase. “Can you at least say goodbye?” Dad asked. “I don’t want her to leave with you two on such bad terms.”
I came to the door and leaned on the frame.
“Bye, Mom,” I said.
“Goodbye,” she replied. “I love you, Imani.”
I thought of Anna, the way she wished she could do her goodbyes over. The fact that she never saw her parents again. I thought of Milton and all the other men lined up around the block to go to war. I thought of Freddy, who was going to die fighting in Korea.
I was still mad at my mom—furious, really—but I walked over and gave her a hug. “I love you too.”
Thursday, January 8, 1942
Dear Belle,
Milton left for training today. His family hung a large white flag in their window with a blue star in the middle, to show their pride at having someone in the service. The flags have been popping up all over. There are so many servicemen on our street that Hannah is helping some other women sew an enormous flag to hang between our building and the next one, with a blue star for everyone on the block who is serving.
I went to Milton’s goodbye party on Sunday. He looked very smart in his uniform, I must say. Enid clung to his arm all night, her bright red lips were in a proud smile. Freddy wore his Junior Service Corps helmet, and the armband that shows he’s a “messenger.” He’s worn it every day since his training.
It was so frustrating, because when I asked him what a messenger does, he just kept saying, “I have to be ready at a moment’s notice. For anything.”
“Yes, but what do you do?”
He said a lot of other things about how important his job is before finally saying, “I convey messages from the air raid warden, in case the telephone system gets knocked out.”
That does seem like an important job, I suppose. But he seems most excited about possibly being excused from school early if there’s an urgent message to deliver. He bragged, “You’re supposed to be 15 to be a messenger. And everyone else at the training was a Boy Scout.”
I think the wardens allowed his enthusiasm to make up for his age. I doubt they believed he was 15. And there’s no way Freddy passed for a Boy Scout!
Wednesday, January 28, 1942
Oh Belle. We turned 13 today.
I am exhausted, but my heart feels like it is being pulled in separate directions tonight, and I simply must write.
Max and Hannah surprised me three ways today. The first surprise was that they knew it was my birthday at all. I didn’t tell them, but Hannah knew it from when we registered for school, and she remembered. How thoughtful! There was chocolate croissant on my breakfast plate this morning. She said, “You mentioned how you’d get a chocolate croissant with your sister before school some days. I thought you’d like it as a birthday treat!” I don’t remember telling her this, but I must have done, and she made a note. How wonderful she is.
Second, when I got to the factory after school today, Hannah was there too! She said I was not going to work that afternoon, and neither was Max. We were all going to the theater! We saw a funny, silly play called “Arsenic and Old Lace.” Hannah gave me a lovely gift of high-heel shoes, just like hers, only not quite as high. And Max suggested I wear the jacket they have been fitting me for. I thought it was supposed to go to a store, but no, it is for me! My very own fur coat . . . oh, I felt like Vivien Leigh herself, going to the theater in high heels and mink. I could have been on the cover of “Radio and Television Mirror”!
At dinner, Hannah ordered champagne, and made a toast to me. I remember every word that she said: “To Anna, who has filled our lives with so much joy these past few months. And to her family, who I have every hope will arrive in New York soon, to bring us even more joy.”
It was all so wonderful except . . . this was the first birthday I have not shared with you. Do you remember when we were 8 or 9 and you paid a good portion of your saved francs to visit the fortune-teller at the fair? You refused to tell anyone (even me!) what that fortune-teller told you, but you boasted that it was worth every cent. Oh, how that infuriated me! Especially then, our lives were so entwined, I couldn’t fathom doing anything without you . . . I was sure that whatever your future held, mine did too. I wonder now what you learned. Surely the fortune-teller did not say we would be separated by a war and an ocean. You couldn’t have kept that secret, could you?
What a strange turn our lives have taken. If a fortune-teller told me that I would spend my 13th birthday in New York with people named Max and Hannah, I would have demanded my money back. Yet here I am, and you are . . . where? Wherever you are, you are with the rest of our family, and for that I am jealous. I had a most lovely day, and yet I am jealous of you. How very selfish I am!